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14/08/2016 / hbrowne4

What Knowst Man of Love? by Orla Ni Sheaghdha

What knowst man of love?
That canst not love the way a woman doth,
Who through trial and misfortune truest doth remain.
No heart hath man as constant as the beating bosom of a lady fair.
How canst thou speak of love pure and true
That doth shy away from its glowing ember?
Cupid pierceth thine heart and you do yelp,
Like the mangy dog by his cruel master beaten.
The bravest of men do flee from love’s power,
That dost embolden the meekest of the fairer sex to speak her heart.
Fie! Thou knowst not of passion, of pain, of truest feeling that doth enflame the coldest heart.
Thy cowardice is etched upon thy furrowed brow,
Thou who dost quake at the tender embrace of the fairest maid.
Oh no! Cupid’s pointed arrows will not pierce thy soul and let me into thy love.
Thy eagle eyes are blind to the virtue set before you.
How canst thou stumble through the darkness with no sweet light to guide thee?
Gentle woman’s love is met with scorn and censure
Upon which no sweet entreaties can prevail.
Fie! Let thee to thy solitude and thine shrunken heart,
For fair maiden loves thee still, in folly.
Sweetest coward who leaps away from Aphrodite’s kiss
To leave thy faithful love to fall into the dark abyss.

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